


Duvet

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their journey, Merry helps Pippin fight the cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duvet

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Based on p380 in The Fellowship of the Ring (The Ring Goes South) when Pippin leans on Merry and Frodo. (I’m ignoring the branches they’re supposed to be carrying.) 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When the party stops, Pippin takes an extra step. He sees that his friends have halted, but he doesn’t want to be left alone in the snow—it’s falling so deep around him that if he stumbles, he’ll be buried in a heartbeat. That one step brings him between Frodo and Merry: his two _very best friends_. They do as much for him now as they always have, cutting out all the wind. 

Frodo’s staggering. He looks like he might faint, pale and ashen with snowflakes caught in his hair and eyebrows. His blue eyes seem even brighter for all the white around him, and his lips are parted to puff out ragged breath. Pippin loops an arm around his half to keep him up.

Merry, on Pippin’s other side, is fatter, warmer, _stronger._ He’s always been sturdy. Pippin leans on him, holding the three of them close together, like they used to be before all this mess started. Merry’s shoulder is softer for all the padding: his shirt and cloak and the straps of his pack. The fabric’s a little damp against Pippin’s cheek, but it’s worth it for the comfort. Sometimes, he thinks he should’ve let Elrond keep him behind. But then he remembers that he _couldn’t have been left without his Merry._

Merry wraps an arm around his back, holding him up. Sam comes behind them, dragging Bill, who houses them in while the Big Folk talk. Strider and Gandalf do most of it, Boromir with some advice and Legolas on the lookout, Gimli grumbling and trying not to drown in all the snow. The Shire never got like this, but then, it already feels like they’ve left the Shire a world behind. 

Finally, they decide, and the company is ushered against the rock face, which Gandalf says will do for shelter but Sam says is nothing of the sort. They don’t have any choice. Pippin selfishly makes sure to be in the middle again. He practically falls against Merry, Frodo still close to him and Sam settling behind that, taking their poor old pony back in front to act as a wall against the wind. For a long while they sit there, waiting for the weather to die and trying not to freeze to their own doom. Frodo and Sam talk quietly, but Pippin’s cheeks are too frozen, his teeth chattering too hard to speak. He tries to pull his friends closer, but they’re already sandwiching him in as tight as they can go. 

Finally, Merry’s hand, wedged between them, drifts up to Pippin’s lap. Pippin glances down at it, watching curiously as Merry removes his glove—a very foolish thing to do. But before Pippin can say so, that hand has slithered underneath his cloak, squirming against his waistband and worming its way into his trousers. The bare hand rests flush against his thigh, and Pippin lets out a choked gasp that’s swallowed in the howl of the air. Merry’s skin is ice cold, but at least it moves, stroking slowly. Pippin has no room to pull away, so he only squirms against it, whining at the frosty touch. It’s too close to his sensitive bits for his liking, but Merry doesn’t dip down quite low enough to risk that. He just pets Pippin’s thigh until he’s warming up, now heating Pippin, too. It becomes pleasant: sharing body heat without the pain of clothes. It takes Pippin back to winters in Buckland, where it was never cold like _this_ , but still enough to warrant staying overnight, snuggling under the covers together in nothing but a pair of shorts, maybe not even that. Then they’d wake up with sweat in the morning, clammy all over, and wash it away with a warm bath over coals. 

Mewling, Pippin rolls his head away from Merry, not wanting to go down that road. Not in the middle of the ice with so many others around. He watches Frodo instead, though that isn’t much smarter. They snuck up to Bag End enough times, to lick Hobbiton honey off Frodo’s chest or roll around in the gardens Sam kept clean. Frodo’s so very _pretty_ , even weak as this, his small body so tantalizing close and lips a bright rose against his sheet-white skin. Watching him just makes Pippin want to _kiss him_ , maybe even worse than Merry. Frodo has the biggest burden: he needs the most cheering up. And though Sam looks at Frodo with such _longing_ that it’s almost painful, he’ll never do it. He’ll just pine, quiet and ashamed. Merry and Pippin are the troublemakers, always up for fun. 

Merry’s mouth comes against Pippin’s ear; he can feel Merry’s breath ghost along his skin and the round tip of Merry’s nose pressed into his curls. Merry whispers, “What’re you looking at other hobbits for, when you’ve got me right here?”

A shiver runs down Pippin’s spine: the first one not brought on from cold. Merry’s hand dips tantalizingly down his inner thigh, curling lightly in to let him feel the blunt nails. Pippin could _really_ use a kiss from just about anyone.

But he isn’t _that_ improper, and when he turns back, he sticks out his tongue. If they were back in Buckland, Merry would lunge at him and nip at it. Instead, Merry just pulls his hand away: the cruelest punishment of all. Pippin whines pathetically. His leg feels cold for the loss. 

But it’s easy enough to pull his own gloves off with his trembling teeth. He slips both hands at once beneath Merry’s cloak, gladder than ever for Merry’s impressive figure and the warmth it carries. He rests his head on Merry’s shoulder and clings to Merry’s sides, while Merry smoothes the cloak back down his front.

They huddle together like that, trying to escape the cold in one another, until Gandalf gives them a stiff drink and bids them to move on again.


End file.
